Hermione Granger strode out of Headmistress McGonagal’s office, and with a huff blew a stray curl out of her eye. She was getting a teaching assistant, and though she was happy to help incoming professors learn the ropes, it was just one more thing on her already too full plate. The Headmistress had not answered her repeated questions of who the assistant would be, only replying by telling her to keep an open mind, and to remember that not all things are as they first appear.
She stopped at the library to pick up a couple of books for her upcoming lesson planning, taking her time getting back to her classroom, delaying the inevitable just a bit longer. The scent of old books, running her fingers along the spines, reading their ancient titles had always calmed her nerves.
Finally, taking a breath, she checked out the books she needed and proceeded slowly up the grand staircase, down the corridor, to the furthest classroom at the end of the hall. Last door on the right.
Reaching out to pull open the door, the cool metal handle grounded her in familiarity. This was her domain. She could handle anything that was thrown at her in this room.
Except him.
Silhouetted in sunlight coming in through the huge windows, a broad-shouldered man with shoulder-length wavy blonde hair stood, right hand on his hip while leaning against the other that was resting on the window frame.
To anyone else, he would appear mysterious, intriguing, oozing enough sex appeal to charm even the most chaste of witches. But to her, he was almost as evil as Voldemort himself. A Death Eater, Muggle abuser and murderer. Evil, vile, loathesome.
Please try to keep an open mind, Ms. Granger. Not all things are as they first appear. Headmistress McGonagall’s words echoed in her mind. She’d have to have the most unrestricted of minds to accept one of them into her classroom. A Death Eater for a professor? What was the Headmistress thinking?
—
Thorfinn Rowle had heard Hermione approaching, soft footsteps down the corridor, the metal door handle turning to release the latch with a click, the creaking hinges of the door allowing her entrance. A gasp, and she paused.
So she recognizes me, he thought, steeling himself for her inevitably angry reaction. It had taken him months of begging, ample amounts of charm, and finally hours in a pensieve to convince Minerva McGonagall of his true intentions. He wanted to help prepare students for the evil that, though Voldemort was dead, still existed in the world. The best way to do that, they had decided, was to pair him with a professor who the Wizarding World knew, respected, and most of all, trusted implicitly.
McGonagall had warned him of the feat ahead. It had taken months to convince her, and Hermione would be even harder to win over, no doubt. He was ready. He had spent the last ten years trying to find his place in the world, figure out who he was, and what he wanted to do with his life. He no longer found any joy in fighting, creatures frustrated him because he couldn’t figure out how to communicate with them, he even had tried a brief stint in the Muggle world, but not being able to use magic proved to be an issue for him. He was spoiled being able to use his wand instead of his hands to do basic things.
He wanted to do something useful, to make a difference in people’s lives, which was hard to do when half of the Wizarding World hated you and the other half wanted you dead. At some point last year, his therapist had told him to find something that he could use his skills for to do good in the world.
At first he laughed. His skills thus far had been learning every bit of Dark Magic he could, wielding it against his “enemies”, and teaching newly recruited Death Eaters everything that he had ever learned.
Teaching newly recruited…students. Once the idea had sprung to mind, it had taken hold and run rampant until he finally decided to do something about it. Eight months ago, he had sucked up his pride and mustered his courage and Apparated to Hogsmeade, then walked the rest of the way up to Hogwarts to have a conversation with the Headmistress.
And now here he was. Dressed in Muggles jeans and black heathered henley with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, dragonhide boots on his feet, afraid to turn around for fear of Hermione Granger’s reaction to him being in her classroom.
What a big, strong, fearless Death Eater he was now. Was he really ever, though? Fearless was definitely not a word that Throfinn would have ever used to describe himself in the past…he was just really good at hiding his emotions from the world.
He knew that if he were ever going to convince her, he was going to have to let some of those hidden emotions out today, and that scared him more than almost anything else in the world, second only to her rejection of his proposal.
—
“No. No, no, no, no, no. I am not doing this, not here. Not with you. Nope.” Hermione had turned to leave the room and march herself back to McGonagall’s office before he even had a chance to turn. The apology on his lips dying as he sprinted across the room, hand reaching out to stop her. No sooner had his large hand landed on her shoulder than she spun on her heel, her wand firmly pressed to his throat. The set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes gave him pause. Ok so it probably wasn’t a good idea to touch her, even in such an innocent way. He should have known better.
“You had better have a bloody good reason for being here, Rowle, or I won’t hesitate to drop you to the ground right here,” Hemione shouted, the ends of her curly hair sparking with rage magic, though her wand hand was unsurprisingly steady. Thankfully, considering she thinks I’m a murdering psychopath.
“Ms. Granger, if you would be so kind as to remove your wand from my throat, I’d be happy to explain everything, answer any questions you wish to ask of me.”Thorfinn tried to stay calm, not getting angry. Five years ago he would have fought anyone to the ground who dared hold a wand to him, but today, he was different. Therapy had helped calm his nerves, and his anger, and he was much more in control of himself these days.
“I don’t know what you did to Headmistress McGonagall to convince her to let you in here, but you will not pull one over on me. What did you do to her? Imperius, maybe? I heard that was your favorite curse to use on helpless Muggles,” she spat angrily at him, still refusing to lower her wand.
“You’re right, Granger,” Finn replied, lowering his chin as much as he could with the tip of Vinewood pushing against his trachea.
She wavered, just a tiny bit, but enough for him to tell that he had caught her off guard. She had been expecting him to what? Fight her like she was a full grown man? Or drop to the ground and plead for mercy? Pfft. But it was enough. He pressed on.
“You’re right. Imperio was my favorite curse to use. It was helpful to make someone get out of the way a fraction of a second before being hit with an Avada, or sneaking out he back of a house while my cohorts were blasting through the front.”
Her wand hand dropped a fraction of an inch, her mouth dropping open forming a slight O shape with her lips for a second before clamping them shut again, and strengthening her arm again.
“And why should I believe anything you have to say,” Hermione snapped, “you’re a Death Eater.” The way she punctuated each syllable in the final two words of that sentence was like a punch to the gut, momentarily losing the ability to breathe, his hands beginning to shake.
“Wha-,” she started to speak as he closed his eyes, stepping back a step to lean on a desk behind him, in lieu of falling over.
His head swam, vision blurring, heart pounding, a light sweat appearing on his forehead. Gasping for breath, Thorfinn started pinching his wrist, a coping tool he’d learned to remind himself that this is real, he’s alive and well, and that he is not in the middle of a war of good versus evil.
Solely on protective instinct, Hermione stepped toward him placing a gentle hand on his forearm, the other on his forehead as if she were a mother, checking a child for a fever. He reached his hand up, placing his large hand on her tiny one. A wave of calm washed over him, his pulse steadied, his breath returning to a somewhat normal pattern.
“What…what was that?” he stuttered out.
“What do you mean,” she asked, realizing suddenly how close she was to him, though she only removed her hand from his forehead, leaving the other one on his arm. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Did you cast a spell or charm over me? What was that?” He looked up at her, her face twisted in confusion.
“I didn’t do anything,” she stated again, confused by what he was asking. “No spells, no charms.”
“Huh.” he looked down at his hands, then to hers, still resting on his arm. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of her touch. Where each finger laid, the warmth of her palm. He could barely feel her pulse in the tips of her fingers, but it was there. Strong, steady. Taking a breath, he decided to open up a bit. “That’s never happened before. Usually, ya know when that” he gestured vaguely to himself as a whole, “ people touching me results in them getting a punch to the gut.” He chuckled a bit under his breath.
“Well, thanks for not punching me,” she finally stepped back, wiping her hands on the Muggle jeans she was wearing under her robes.
“And thank you for not cursing me the second you saw me,” the corners of his mouth quirked up, “or you know, after, when you had your wand to my throat.”
“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, getting to the point. “Obviously you’re supposed to be my Assistant Professor, but I still don’t understand why. And what..what was that?” she gestured to him like he had previously done to himself.
“Panic attack. Happened a lot after the war was over, but they’re few and far between these days. A few things can trigger them, but I usually have my guard up a bit more than that. Guess I didn’t realize that being vulnerable made them worse,” he shrugged his large shoulders, a motion that made him look younger and more fragile than normal. “I don’t make a habit of opening up to people, and I didn’t even get a chance to before that kicked in.”
“Vulnerable? Opening up? I don’t understand,” Hermione looked perplexed. Maybe this was how he got one over on McGonagall? Had he used this trick her her, too? “Death Eaters don’t open up to people. Is this how you lure people in to your trap before you lock them up in your dungeon to torture and kill them?” She knew she was probably being a bit harsh, but she had no reason to trust him, and a panic attack wasn’t going to magically convert her to a believer.
He wiped his hands over the face, pulling in a deep breath before releasing it on a grumble.
“I don’t use tricks to lure people in. I don’t have a dungeon. And I have never killed anyone,” he answered, then added with a smirk. “Well, no one that hasn’t deserved it, anyway.”
“And what, in your mind, constitutes ‘deserving it’, hmm? Muggleborn, half-blood - Did you know that your beloved Voldemort was a half-blood? Not too many people did, and no Death Eaters for sure took the time to figure it out. All just blindly following him, killing innocent —”
“I NEVER killed any innocents,” he shouted, startling her out of her tirade. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her mouth making that shocked little O face again.
“Of course you did, you are a —”
“A Death Eater” he sneered, “yeah I heard you the first few times. Please stop using those words in my presence; they’re one of those triggers I was talking about, at least in reference to me being one.”
“I will use whatever words I want when a murderous, Muggle torturing —”
“ENOUGH!” he roared, casting a non-verbal silencing spell on her to stop her in her tracks. His hands had started shaking again, his breath becoming more ragged with every inhale and exhale he tried to take. “Just stop! Please,” he begged, and sat down, putting his head down on his desk, pinching his arm again.
I’m alive. The Dark Lord is dead. This is not war.
I’m alive. The Dark Lord is dead. This is not war.
When his breathing was steady again, he looked up at her, still frozen to the place where he had silenced her, though he didn’t freeze her in place. He had no idea why she was still standing there.
He waved his hand again, releasing the silencing spell. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m sorry for silencing you. I just— I couldn’t—. I’m sorry.”
“Promise me you won’t cast a spell on me again, and I promise I will at least hear you out, Mr. Rowle.” Hermione slowly approached, sitting in the desk across from him.
When her hands were in her lap, ready to listen, he began the tale of how he became infamous Death Eater, Thorfinn Rowle. She interjected a few times, asking questions to clarify when he didn’t know what words to use to explain himself. When he was finished, she sat quietly, thinking over what he had told her.
“But all those people you killed. How do you explain that?” She asked, still hesitant to believe his story.
“Did you ever see me cast an Avada on anyone? You were there, in the Battle. I saw you, you must have seen me, too. But did you ever see anyone fall by my wand? No? Not one bloody innocent soul did I take. In fact, I saved a few from being killed, ‘accidentally’” he used air quotes when using the word, “knocking them aside before the curse could hit them. Why do you think George only lost an ear? That severing spell was headed straight for his brain and he didn’t even know it was coming to try to dodge it. I used a tripping spell to get him out of the way, but it wasn’t quick enough to get him completely clear of it.
“Listen, I know what you think you know of me, but I’m trying to explain. I went to school with most of these people or their parents. When Voldemort gained power, it was either kill or be killed, or make it look like you killed, at least. Severus had created a spell that would make it look like people were dead, though they would wake up a few hours later. Yes, I knew he was a traitor, feeding information to the light. Only a few of us did; the ones of us who didn’t want to be there, who didn’t want to kill, but we didn’t want to die, either. So we tried to help, from the inside…”
“Ok but, why are you here? Why are you at Hogwarts, in my classroom? Why do you want to teach children?” Hermione insisted on trying to find something to use against him. She knew that there had to be someone who knew Snape was a spy for the Order; it never made sense how he had gotten away with it for so long, she knew he had to have help covering his tracks. But she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to get at.
“I was lost. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my life, and while I didn’t need to work, I couldn’t just sit around doing nothing. I sat down and tried to think of what skills I had and what job would fit, and the only thing I could think of…”
“When it all started, l had to learn everything I could about Dark Magic just to stay alive. Then I got really good at it, I could defend myself against anything and anyone. So when it came time for the new recruits to come onboard,” he made a face of disgust remembering the young faces of newly branded Death Eaters, eager to learn the ways of the Dark, “I was appointed to train them, to teach them. And I was good at it. They learned quickly, and as new ranks joined, I would continue teaching. There were always a few who didn’t want to be there, who were forced into it by their families, parents who were loyal to the Dark Lord, and I would teach them Sev’s spell, too. Unfortunately, they didn’t all make it out the other side, and I feel like I failed them.”
He didn’t know when Hermione had come closer to him, but when he felt her hand on his arm again, he felt that same calm coursing through him. He looked into her brown eyes, and found the courage to finish.
“I wanted to come here to teach kids how to survive. Teach them the things that I learned, but instead of how to kill, how to defend. Voldemort may be dead, but there are others out there, and when they come, I don’t ever want people to be unprepared. I never want anyone to have to go through what I did as a kid, and what you did, for that matter. We were kids fighting an adult war that never should have taken place to begin with. I don’t want a future like that for anyone, much less for the kids I may be so lucky to have someday.”
He looked away, out the window. He watched students running around by the lake, a few flying over the Quidditch pitch. The picture of innocence. These kids were barely babies when the war was taking place. They knew about it only from history books and stories told by adults. Merlin forbid they every have to witness it happening in front of them.
“The war wasn’t easy on anyone, was it?” Hermione asked in a whisper. She had never taken the time to think about those who got caught on the wrong side of the war, assuming they had all chosen to be there. She should have known better, seeing as her trio had grown to a quartet after the war when Draco showed up at her house, begging for a chance to make things right. She had let him in then, hadn’t she?
Thorfinn moved his hand to cover Hermione’s still on his arm, and she didn’t pull away. He continued to watch the students below, oblivious to their audience. They sat in silence for several minutes, each indulging in some introspection, allowing the other the same.
Finally, she cleared her throat, blinked away the mist that had formed in her eyes, breaking the silence between them.
“If we’re going to do this, we need to set some ground rules, Mr. Rowle.” she began.
“The first is going to be that you call me Finn, Ms.Granger. My father was Thorfinn, and his father, the bastard he was, was Mr. Rowle, and I’ll not have a reminder of either of them between us if you please.”
“OK, Finn. Then you can call me Hermione. I do not like nicknames.” she smiled up at him.
—
It took some time to work out a good rhythm between the two, but the following year, on the first of September, Hermione Granger stood beside Hogwarts newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Thorfinn Rowle III. As they ushered the first years into the Great Hall, they shared a smile over the line of children rushing between them, and she knew that the curse of the DADA professor was over.
And at the end of the day, when all of the children were sent to their rooms, Professor Granger and Professor Rowle walked hand in hand, shoulders brushing together down the long corridor. Professor McGonagall watched from a distance as the two walked away, smiling when Finn leant down to press a kiss to the top of Hermione’s head just before they turned and disappeared through the last door on the right, toward the Floo that would take them home.
xoMC